SOPHIA
Morning mist clings to the alpha house like a shroud of old secrets, three stories of weathered brick rising from manicured grounds that feel too perfect for my scarred hands to touch. The key Lou passes me weighs heavier than iron should—Luna Avril's key, then Hannah's, now somehow mine. The lock turns with a sound like bones settling, and the massive oak door swings inward on hinges that haven't creaked in decades of careful maintenance.
The foyer opens before us like a mouth, all dark wood paneling and portraits of dead Lunas watching from gilt frames. Their eyes follow as Lou guides me through air thick with lemon oil and sage smoke, but underneath lurks something else—the metallic tang of old blood that no amount of scrubbing can erase from wood grain that's absorbed generati
